And so, filled with this new determination, he turned toward the spot where Adrian and Billie stood, with their guns still pointed towards the party.
“You have heard what my white brother has said, and why should not his companion go with Pick-ne-quan-to into the tent, to look once more? The paleface boys do not dare refuse. If they say it must not be, then will the Zunis make them prisoners; and after that even the hand of the medicine man might not be able to save the despoilers of the Sacred Belt from the vengeance of the furious tribe.”
[CHAPTER XXV.—THE COMING OF DONALD.]
“Oh! the brazen face of that old rascal, Braddon!” muttered Billie. “Please let me give him my compliments in his shoulder, Adrian! I’m looking along the barrel of my trusty gun right now, and have got the nicest bead on him you ever saw. Not that I’m savage by nature, or like to inflict pain; but he deserves it, sure he does, Adrian. Can I pull the trigger, did you say?”
His voice was really pleading, showing that
Billie had been considerably worked up by the duplicity of the pretended showman; for, as he said, usually the stout chum was averse to scenes of violence, and avoided them whenever he could, without feeling that he was bringing disgrace on his head in so doing.
“No, no, don’t think of it—yet!” said the other, hastily, but positively. “We haven’t got to the end of our rope. If they do attack us, remember that under no conditions are you to injure a hair on the head of a Zuni brave. Give the white men all the wounds, because it is their doing.”
“But what can we do to stave it off any longer, Adrian?” begged the fat chum.
“I hardly know,” replied Adrian, himself at a loss to grasp any idea that promised hope; “if only Donald would hurry along everything might be well. You don’t see anything of him, do you, Billie?”
“Not a thing, Adrian; and the way you say that makes me think of the old fairy story of Bluebeard, where the wife who is to go down to the old fellow, because she has seen the room where the heads of all his other wives are hanging, asks her sister to look, and see if the brothers are not coming on their horses to save her. Don’t you remember she cries again and again: ‘Sister Ann, sister Ann, look and see if there isn’t a cloud of dust along the road; don’t you see anybody coming this way?’